


Suitor

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Fitting Room Three, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Suits, Swordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8199322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: Andrew coughs politely. "I think young Gawain looks rather pleasant. Don't you agree?""Yes," Harry says, voice strangely faint. "Yes, I agree."





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [the-little-random-me](http://the-little-random-me.tumblr.com/) for my 600 follower giveaway!
> 
> This [lovely piece of fanart](http://www.deviantart.com/art/Fitting-Room-Number-1-538266351) got me inspired, and [ this](http://wychwood.wikidot.com/fighting-sword) helped me with a few of the sword-fighting techniques.

 It's in Australia when Eggsy's suit is utterly destroyed beyond repair.

It had survived a barrage of bullets in Bali, a blast from an explosion in Ecuador, a stabbing in Sudan, and countless hazards of the job, but it eventually met its end with a fucking _tiger._

Apparently, some nut had trained it as his watchdog—Roxy joked that at least it hadn't been a goose—and Eggsy's suit was all the poorer for it. He'd been told by an irate Merlin that he would have ended the day with a lot less scratches if he'd just shot the thing, but Eggsy instead chose to unload nearly all his tranquilizer darts into the roaring beast, having just one to spare to take down a henchman pointing his gun in Harry's direction.

Luckily, it was after their target had been apprehended when Eggsy's body decided to collapse, and he could remember Harry dropping to his knees and holding him until the extraction team came, hands laying his own rolled-up jacket on his wounds, putting pressure on them, even as blood began to soak a little through the fabric. Eggsy had faded in and out, then woke up to the medical team cutting him out of his suit, swiping him with stinging anesthetic, and musing about stitches and cauterizing and bandaging.

Eggsy had moaned, then felt someone take his hand between warm palms and lightly squeeze. “They’re going to put you under, Eggsy, but you’ll be fine,” Harry’s voice soothed. “Tiger claws are four inches in length, rather sharp, but the fabric did its job very well, considering. You’ll be all right, save for a few dashing scars.”

"My suit," Eggsy groaned, voice slightly slurred, and Harry let out an audible sigh.

"You're worried about some pieces of fabric and not your limbs? You could have died." Harry squeezed his hand again, then murmured, "You’re daft, my dear."

 _My dear_? Eggsy’s last thought before he passed out completely was _These are some damn good drugs._

He now wakes up in the familiar medical wing of HQ, with a few doctors questioning him on how he feels, smacking his hands away from trying to sneak a peek of his wounds from underneath the bandages. In a few minutes, Merlin also walks in, looking very much as if he wants to give him an hour-long lecture, but only says, “Next time, please use something other than your darts to subdue a 227.1 kilo beast.”

“But tigers are endangered,” Eggsy protests, and Merlin lets out another put-upon sigh.  

“Please have mercy on my blood pressure, Eggsy.” The quartermaster shakes his head, then says, “Harry’s been wanting to see you, but I’m not letting him escape another meeting. You’ll just have to wait.”

It’s two hours of trying to persuade his doctors, then Roxy, to let him out for some air when Harry finally drops by and coaxes the staff into letting him wheel Eggsy up and down the halls. He talks to Eggsy about his meetings, about the traffic, about another one of Bors’s pranks on Percival, but makes no mention and drops no hints about the hand-holding or the _my dear._

It had to be the drugs, Eggsy decides.

"Perhaps we should have a new design made up," Harry's saying, seemingly unaware of the nature of Eggsy's thoughts. "Nothing too flashy, of course, but the former Lancelot was fond of commissioning different styles to match his fancy, and sometimes there's a mission that requires a customized design. I think your next one is in a gala, so you will also need a tuxedo—"

And Harry's off again, talking about the difference between tuxedos and suits and double breasted collars and pinstripe spacing and the importance of cuff links. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Harry could get pretty chatty when it came to his favorite topics. Eggsy nods, letting Harry continue as he wheels Eggsy towards the patio, then immediately backs up when rain begins to fall from the dark clouds, splattering the glass door.

“Just for a few seconds?” Eggsy asks. He can feel the slightest bit of cold that’s so different from the stuffiness of medical, and if he tries, can smell the distinctive scent of rain mixing in with the trees and grass and gardens from the estate. It’s rich and earthy, making him want to rush out and let the rain soak him.

“Oh, no,” Harry replies. “You’ll get your bandages wet, and you likely don’t need the chill on top of your injuries.” He then pats his shoulder. “Let’s get you back to medical, and we can get some food into you.”

* * *

After Eggsy's finally, finally, cleared from medical, he goes to Andrew to ask after his suit, but the older tailor simply shakes his head and tells him, in the same voice a doctor would use to a family waiting outside the surgery doors, that his suit had not survived, passing him a bag.

Eggsy opens it, then lifts each article of clothing out and lays them each out on the display table, dismayed. The right arm is in tatters, the left has a ragged hole, and the front is absolutely torn apart by jagged claw marks, not to mention splattered a bit with dried blood. The trousers appear to be fine, but the more Eggsy examines it, the more he realize how much this fabric’s been stitched and restitched. Andrew and his troupe are skillful tailors, but there’s only so much that they can make a damaged suit look like new again.

"It's just a suit, Gawain," Andrew says kindly. “We can even have an appointment right now, if you like.”

Eggsy only stares wordlessly at the ruined pieces. It was Harry's suit, and he didn't need another. He'd taken in it to be patched from bullet holes after V-Day, then had worn it faithfully nearly every mission afterwards. Somehow, it had felt wrong to throw it away. It was Harry's gift, his last token of affection before that horrible fight.

Slipping into it made Eggsy feel like the man Harry believed he was: a gentleman spy. And it also, in some way, allowed him to cling to Harry, pretend that he _was_ Harry. Eggsy’s posh accent and mannerisms and Harry’s suit helped resurrected the dead man, and until Harry came back, he’d kept it, like a good luck charm.

And really, he thinks, isn’t it a bit silly, a little superstitious? Eggsy knows better than to think Harry had sewed each stitch; it takes Andrew and a small team to measure, cut, sew, and put together a Kingman suit. Harry might have commissioned it, but it was just a simple gift. He’d probably done the same for his father.

Besides, Harry’s back, now, and he isn’t going to fade away like a ghost if Eggsy no longer keeps the suit around.

“Uh, all right,” Eggsy says, nodding, then follows Andrew into one of the fitting rooms.

* * *

When Eggsy gets an alert from Andrew, he steps off the treadmill, legs a bit wobbly, and snatches up his things.

“A meeting?” Harry asks, without turning off his own treadmill. It should be illegal for Harry to look as good as he does in a grey, cotton t-shirt and baggy sweats, hair falling into hanks of thick curls across his forehead, but Eggsy simply accepts that if Harry had to wear a plastic bag from Tesco’s, he’d still manage to look as attractive as he would be in a bespoke suit.

“Nah, just a suit fitting,” Eggsy says, then jerks his head towards the showers. “Just going to wash up and try them on.”

Later, he’s standing in front of the trifold mirror and buttoning up his jacket, cuffs of his white button-down perfectly fallen to his wrists. He’s not wearing his glasses and his hair isn’t slicked back, but Eggsy looks every bit the Kingsman agent as he’s supposed to be.

How many times has he looked in a mirror and been satisfied with what he sees? The first time he thought he could raise his chin at his reflection was with Harry, that fateful evening when Harry waited for him and explained about Kingsman. He hadn’t been wearing a suit then, but—

"Does it fit all right?" Andrew asks, tape measure slung over both his shoulders like a wrap.

"Yes," Eggsy says quickly. "Yes, thank you. I like it."

Privately, though, he wonders at the brighter shade of blue. It's not as eye-catching as his favorite gold-plates jacket, but it will definitely draw the eye. He's so used to the dark navy blue that it makes him wonder.

“Thank you,” he says, undoing his tie.

“You’re welcome,” Andrew replies. “Would you like to see the other one?”

“Other one?”

Andrew cocks his head at him, but only says, “Yes, the other one. Wait here for a moment, please.” He then opens the door, and Eggsy’s beginning to unbutton his jacket when the tailor greets, "Afternoon, Galahad," and turning around, Eggsy’s realized that Harry’s standing near the doorway of the fitting room. "Gawain here is trying on his new suits. Care to give him a second opinion?" Eggsy swears the older tailor gives him a wink before going to get the new suit.

Harry looks at Eggsy now, up and down, arms crossed behind his back. Eggsy knows it’s a good suit, every line in place, not a single fabric bunched up, but can’t help but wanting to squirm at Harry’s gaze. He’s put back on his suit, this one a dove-gray with silver pinstripes and a dark blue tie with black stripes, and his hair is neatly coiffed, no longer in those wayward curls. His glasses are perched neatly on his nose as well, and even his oxfords look polished and shiny.  

Eggsy smiles self-consciously. "I know, same design and all. Nothing new to look at."

"No. You look good." Harry walks towards him, hand on his chin. "And the tuxedo? How does it fit?"

"Haven't tried it on yet," Eggsy says, wondering when he’d told Andrew to make him a tuxedo. "Are you going to stay?"

He'd meant the last part as a joke; surely, Harry had better things to do than offer his opinion like a bird out with her friends at the mall, but Harry surprises him by saying, "Yes, I will. If you don't mind."

"No, no,” Eggsy says. “I mean, I don't mind. It’s just...it’ll be boring.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry replies.

Before Eggsy can think of some sort of retort, Andrew comes back with a sealed bag. "Here you go, sir."

Eggsy takes it, murmuring a thank you, and slips off the suit in the privacy of the fitting room and neatly hangs it up. He’s conscious of Harry waiting outside, chatting a little with Andrew. In a few minutes, Harry will look at him with his frustratingly level gaze, and the thought of it nearly makes Eggsy yank off a button.

He slips into the tuxedo, navy blue with black lapels, and looks at himself in the mirror, tugging it a little into place. His bow tie resembles a shoelace knot more than anything, but Eggsy, after a few more unsuccessful attempts, shrugs and saunters out, holding out his right arm at his side, the left carrying his other suit. “Well?” he asks, trying for casual.  

Harry turns away from Andrew and pauses. "You look..."  

But he never finishes his statement. Instead, Harry keeps staring at him for so long that Eggsy has to fight the urge to shuffle his feet or put his hands in his pockets.

Andrew coughs politely. "I think young Gawain looks rather pleasant. Don't you agree?"

"Yes," Harry says, voice strangely faint. "Yes, I agree."

Eggsy finds it a bit easier to smile now. "I feel a bit like Bond."

"Bond cannot hold a candle to you," Harry declares, then glances at his collar. "Besides the fact that your bow tie is a little..."

"Oh, yeah, this is my first one, really," Eggsy says, lightly touching it. "It's not the best, but it's not the worst, yeah?"

"If I may?" Harry asks, and Eggsy nods.

Harry steps in, fingers at Eggsy's throat, and Eggsy doesn't flinch at all. His heart rate’s surely too fast, but Harry makes no comment as he undoes Eggsy’s attempt and neatly fixes it, explaining each step along the way. His fingers are so long and skillful, and Eggsy forces himself to look away, but finds Andrew smirking at him.

"There,” Harry then finishes. “Did you get it?"

"Yeah," Eggsy says breathlessly, though he hadn't listened to a single word. "I did."

Harry smiles. "Good. Good."

"I thought tuxedos were just black and white, though. Didn't know the, uh, these things," Eggsy tugs at his jacket, "could be a different color."

"Normally, no, but for you, I thought something a little unconventional would do." Harry nods, then steps back to observe, and Eggsy tries not to sigh in disappointment. "Dark blue—nothing too conspicuous, but enough to flatter you."

"You picked this out?"

"I did, but if you object—"

"No, no." It explains the other suit’s color, too. "I like it.”

“You also get new additions with the tuxedo,” Andrew adds, and Eggsy briefly startles, looking away from Harry. The door then opens, revealing a bored-looking older gentleman. “Well, I have a customer now, so Mr. Hart can attend to you.”

If he didn’t know better, Eggsy would accuse Andrew of planning that, but instead, follows Harry, tuxedo and all, towards Fitting Room Three.

Harry pulls the hook, lightly stepping backwards so Eggsy can enter first, and closes the door behind them. “This,” he points to a little, leather case—black with a single gold clasp, “can be part of your disguise.”

Eggsy, after putting the other suit down on a bench, takes the case from the display and opens it. “I don’t smoke,” he says. Not anymore, really—Merlin had seen to him going cold turkey during the long months of Kingsman training.

“Those cigarettes have a tracking device. If your target accepts one, it’s activated once it’s lit.” Harry then takes off a pocketwatch and chain from one of the shelves. “And not only does this tell time, it also, if you lift up the clock face, has a device that will pick up phone calls or police radio signals. The chain can also double as a garrote.”

“No laser cutters?” Eggsy jokes.

Harry shakes his head, a small smile curling on his lips. “No, but another one can jam signals and this one—” he indicates a silver watch, “can set off alarms, if need be. It’s essential to choose the right one.” He then reaches out and plucks a cane from near the umbrellas. “This, now, would look a bit conspicuous if you chose this, but I like it because—” With a twist of the hooked end, Harry pulls out a fucking _sword,_ blade shining in the brightly-lit room _._ “Well, to be fair, there hasn’t been much of an occasion to use this, but it is rather—”

“Fucking _awesome_ ,” Eggsy cuts in, staring. “Shit, Harry, have you ever had to use that thing?”

“Once in Spain and once in Brooklyn,” Harry says simply, but Eggsy senses there’s more to it than that.

“Come on, Harry,” Eggsy wheedles, “you gotta tell me more.”

“There’s nothing much to tell.” Harry’s being purposely infuriating, isn’t he? “One of the marks had been taught sword-fighting since he was nine, and the other...well, as Jack said, it was Brooklyn.”

“Can’t be worse than some parts of London,” Eggsy retorts, keeping his eyes on the sword. “Can I…”

Harry hands it over, taking a few generous steps backwards as Eggsy lifts it, swinging it around very carefully. “Never held a sword before,” he breathes. “Who knew Kingsman had them?”

“Well, we are knights,” Harry comments dryly. “Let me show you how to a little of how this works.” He snatches another cane, then yanks the sword out with a satisfied sigh. “This blade doesn’t have the power of a longsword, but it’s a good fit for you. You’re quick and good with your hands, and you don’t, contrary to belief, grip the hilt so tightly.” He shows Eggsy where his fingers are positioned, then slides into a defensive stance. “No matter your skill, you will always be on defense at some point. Don’t leave yourself open.”

Eggsy mimics him, feeling a bit ridiculous he was doing this in a tuxedo, but since Harry’s also in a suit, he’s not going to worry too much about it.

“There are eight attacks and eight defenses, and you need not swing it wildly with your whole arm. Quick movements are essential and less tiring.” Harry slashes the air a few times, and Eggsy mentally thinks, _wow,_ simply staring at the deadly grace of the man in front of him. He wonders if there’s mission footage from what Harry mentioned, if you could see it in action… “Eggsy, you’ve dropped your grip on the sword.”

Eggsy guiltily looks at his sword, limp at his side.

Harry lightly clicks his tongue, then re-sheathes his sword, puts it back, and walks towards Eggsy. His fingers snake around Eggsy’s. “Grip with the thumb and first two fingers, with the remaining curled loosely around the hilt. Wrist relaxed, in line with your forearm.” His hand briefly massages Eggsy’s wrist in slow, steady circles, then moves to cup Eggsy’s shoulder, and Eggsy, like a cat, melts underneath his touch. “Use your shoulder and tricep…Are you listening to me?”

Eggsy looks at Harry, and to his surprise, he sees the hunger in Harry’s eyes, hidden carefully as it is, that match his own. “No, I’m not,” he says clearly. “Because you’re distracting me.”

“How am I distracting you?” Harry asks, but doesn’t step away or remove his hand.

“The same way I distract you, I guess,” Eggsy replies, then challengingly meets Harry’s gaze. “How do I look in this suit, Harry?”

For a long minute, Harry says nothing, Eggsy not daring to say anything, and his patience is rewarded when Harry says, very levelly, “You look strikingly handsome.”

Eggsy preens. “I do, don’t I?” Then, “Why don’t you show me?”

"A gentleman does not rumple a good suit, nor does he ruin the line of his trousers." Harry pauses. "A gentleman disrobes before such carnal activities."

“Right here?” Eggsy lowers the sword, then slides it back into the hollow cane. After replacing it on display, he straightens his back and puts his hands on his bowtie, not undoing it yet, but watching Harry’s gaze draw up towards his neck. He can easily picture slipping off the black silk, slowly sliding it from around his collar, letting it drop to the floor, doing the same with his jacket, and slowly opening his button-down to reveal the bare skin beneath. Eggsy knows he’s in good shape—and that Harry will appreciate it.

“If you like,” Harry replies casually, but Eggsy now knows better.

“Yes, I’d _like_ ; I’ve been wanting this to happen since the first time you took me in here!” he confesses.

A slight look of surprise passes over Harry’s features. “That long?”

“That long,” Eggsy confirms, then tugs at his bowtie. It falls without a sound, curled up in languid loops on the red carpet. Still holding Harry’s gaze, he tugs off his jacket, letting it pool on the floor, and brings his fingers to the first button of his shirt.

Something seems to snap Harry out of whatever daze he’s in because his hands are at Eggsy’s shirt, undoing it for him. “Me as well,” Harry says, before slipping the fabric off Eggsy’s shoulders. Eggsy can feel Harry taking him in: the mole on his neck, the still-healing scars, old remnants of growing up in the estates, the dark curls on his chest.

He can’t wait to see Harry in return.

As if rehearsed, their lips meet, and Harry’s hands slide around his waist, Eggsy’s travelling up Harry’s muscled arms to his broad shoulders. The kiss is sweet, in spite of Eggsy’s state of undress, Eggsy can easily imagine it being more. Maybe when they part, Eggsy can make Harry sit down on one of the benches and straddle his lap, undo—

“Gentleman,” Merlin’s voice calls, and startled, Eggsy whips his head around, trying to find the source of the sound. “Please do not desecrate Kingsman property. You may go home and do it on your own time in your own residence. Dismissed.”

With a crackle of static, it goes silent, with both of them still frozen in position, until Harry lightly coughs. “Shall we do what Merlin says?” he asks.

Eggsy grins, stepping away to pick up his shirt. “Why not?” he smirks. “But you better not have like, a stuffed cat in your bedroom.”

“I would never,” Harry says, stepping forward to help Eggsy with his bowtie. “But are you afraid of iguanas?”

“You aren’t serious.”

Harry only smiles.

Eggsy rolls his eyes, grabbing his suit, and heads for the door. “You are impossible,” he mutters, but allows Harry to kiss his forehead before stepping back into the fitting room, then smooth out the wrinkles in his suit. They share another kiss behind the closed door, long enough to sustain them both until they get back home, then Harry opens the door to the shop, gesturing with one hand.

He tries to ignore Andrew’s knowing glance as they head for the cab that’s already waiting outside.


End file.
